


Make My Voice Brand New

by staygold483



Category: The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-07-05
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-05-31 07:09:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,619
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15114347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/staygold483/pseuds/staygold483
Summary: Luka Mateo has been working as a Rehab Programme Consultant for the Avengers for a while. She never had time for relationships, but the Avengers team knew someone that wanted her to make time.





	1. Chapter 1

“Come in.” you said to the knock on the door, standing up to put your book on the shelf. The door opened and an incredibly awkward supersoldier walked in, his fingers still gripping the handle. “Hi.” You smiled, gesturing to the chair for him to sit on, as you plopped yourself on your own recliner, grabbing your notebook and pen off the side table.  
  
“You aren’t what I was expecting.” He finally said, still holding the door open.  
  
“I hear that a lot, Sergeant Barnes.”  
  
“It’s Bucky.” He muttered, closing the door behind him and cautiously sitting on the chair you had gestured to. You wrote it down, the scratching of your pen on the paper making his head snap up. “What are you writing?” He was nervous. That wasn’t suprising. You turned the notebook and held it up for him to read his own nickname at the top of the paper.  
  
“You clearly have a preference for how you’re addressed, so I wanted to make sure I respect that.” You smiled genuinely at him, putting the notebook back on your lap, the edge of your pen finding its way into your mouth. A habitual tick of yours, chewing on your pens, but you felt no need to try and stop yourself.  
  
“Thank you.” His words were quiet, but appreciative.  
  
“Are you settling in here okay?” He looked down, his hands resting on either arm of the chair, his eyes focusing on the carpet by his feet. You observed his stiffness for a few seconds, then tried again. “Do you miss Wakanda?” His jaw clenched, noticeably, but he still said nothing.  
  
You blinked, the silence answering your questions for you. Then you decided to take the lid back off your pen, and started sketching. You felt his eyes on you, but you continued, a pleasantly calm expression on your face as you heard his body shift forward in his chair.  
  
“What are you doing now?” You heard him ask.  
  
“I’m trying to sketch you. I get the feeling you’re not willing to talk to me just yet.”  
  
“I just…” You held a hand up.  
  
“You don’t need to explain. I’m here whether you want to talk or not. But I hate sitting staring at the ceiling for an hour so, don’t move too much.” You winked at him and continued drawing. Silence filled the room for a minute.  
  
“Do you draw everyone who comes in here?” He asked, finally.  
  
“No. I’m not a very good artist, to be honest.” You smiled, a laugh threatening your lips. It was quiet for a short while, then you heard him get out of the chair.  
  
Half expecting him to open the door and leave, you were pleasantly surprised to hear his footsteps circling around your office. You kept your eyes on your drawing, trying to adequately add his hair to your picture. His footsteps were now padding somewhere behind you, and from your peripherals, you could see him facing one of your bookshelves. You kept both of you in the silence, awaiting him to make a move, when you heard the sliding of a book.  
  
“You don’t have to be sneaky, Bucky. If you want a book, you are allowed to borrow them.” You look up to see him looking over his shoulder at you. “Take as many as you want.” You turn back to your drawing, hearing a few more books sliding off your shelves. “And if you don’t want me seeing, you can put them behind your chair until you leave.” You pointed to his chair, then continued sketching. His slow movements echoed back across the room, the thud of books on the floor, and then you heard the distinct shuffle of his body sitting back down on the leather. You felt his eyes on you, but gave no indication of your response.  
  
“You’re not from here.” He said simply.  
  
“No, I’m from England originally. Well, up until around a month ago.” You explained, now tracing in the shapes of his eyes on your notebook.  
  
“Do you have family there?”  
  
“Yes. A sister, mother and father, and two nephews.”  
  
“Do you miss them?” You paused, swallowing slightly.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“Why did you leave them?”  
  
“People need my help here.” You saw him nod slightly, shuffling his feet as he readjusted himself in the chair.  
  
“Do you see the rest of the team?”  
  
“I can’t tell you that.” You looked up, smiling at him softly. “Confidential.” He bit his bottom lip, then let it go.  
  
“Who brought you here?”  
  
“Pepper scouted me. I was working with adults who were trying to recover from addictions and people who suffered PTSD. I guess she thought some of my techniques could be applied here.”  
  
“Do you like it here?”  
  
“It’s fine. A little hotter than I’m used to, but it’s fine.” Your smile was small, but honest. “I do miss the rain sometimes.”  
  
“It does rain a lot there.”  
  
“You’ve been?” He nodded, clearly not willing to give away anything else. “My family lives right on the southern coastline, so it’s very beautiful even when it is pouring it down.”  
  
“I like the rain.”  
  
“Me too.” The corners of his mouth twitched, and you thought he was about to smile for a second, but then his movements stilled.  
  
“What do you want me to do?” He said quietly.  
  
“That’s your choice.” You put your pen down for a moment. “Like I said, I’m here either way. If you don’t want to tell me anything, then you don’t have to. If you do, I can try to help.” They held each other’s gaze for a few seconds, and you could tell that he wanted to talk, that he didn’t feel as awkward around you as he should. But you could also tell that the fact that he felt slightly comfortable around you, was unnerving him.  
  
“Do you live in the compound?”  
  
“Yes. Down the East Wing with the lab geeks.” She smiled fondly, knowing that the ‘lab geeks’ were some of her closest friends.  
  
“Do you all…talk about what…” His hand wavered slightly.  
  
“Anything you say here stays in this room. Unless you ask me to talk to someone about what happens here.” He shook his head suddenly.  
  
“What happens if…if I don’t talk?”  
  
“We either sit in silence for an hour each week, or I can find you a new psychiatrist. Whichever you’d prefer.”  
  
“Is it…only once a week?”  
  
“Would you like it to be more?” He gave a slight shrug. “I can be here whenever you need me to be.” He nodded, processing your words.  
  
“I’m not sure.” You got up and walked over to your desk, taking one of your business cards out of your stack, scribbling on the front. Then you sat back down, and placed it on the table in between you and Bucky.  
  
“I’ve put my personal number on there. It’s only…” You look at the calendar on your desk. “Tuesday now. If you want another session on, say, Friday, just send me a text saying when you’re heading down. If you don’t, I’ll see you this time next Tuesday.” He stared at the card on the table. “I’m here on Friday anyway so don’t feel guilty if you choose not to turn up.” He slowly leant forward and picked it up, turning it in his fingers.  
  
“Thank you.” You nod, smiling at him, pick up your pen, and continue with your drawing of him. “What will you do with that drawing when you’re finished?”  
  
“You can have it if you want.” You flicked your eyes up to see him look…shocked? “Unless you want me to keep it and frame it?” His mouth closed, and you could see the thoughts turning in his mind.  
  
“I…I’d like to have it, if that’s okay.”  
  
“Of course. But you’ll have to take it next session, when I’ve finished it.”  
  
“On Friday?” You smiled at his words.  
  
“Friday.” He finally smiled back, then looked down at his hands, wringing them together. “You know,” he looked back up at you. “If you want to go, you don’t have to stay the whole hour. If you feel you’ll be more ready the next session, that’s fine.”  
  
“I’ve…I’ve only been here twenty minutes.” You shrugged.  
  
“It doesn’t bother me. I don’t want you to stay out of obligation.”  
  
“Is that…are you sure?” You nodded, watching him stand out of the chair. “Thank you.”  
  
“Don’t forget the books.”  
  
“When…when do you want them back?”  
  
“Take your time with them. I have plenty more to keep myself occupied.” You gesture to the walls, brimming with books. He gave you an appreciative look, then bent behind the chair to pick up his selections, and headed to the door. He looked back for a second, and you smiled at him, then watched him open the door and leave.  
  
  
**[Friday]**  
  
  
You were typing up your latest notes onto your computer, when your phone buzzed loudly next to your cup of coffee. Picking it up, you saw a text from an unknown number.  
  
_‘Can I come down in half hour? – Bucky’_  
  
You smiled, pleasantly surprised at this, and you replied back a quick ‘Of course’, then set your phone down, and continued typing until you heard his knock on the door.  
  
“Come in.” You said loudly, pushing back from the desk and walking over to your chair as the door opened, and the attractive soldier walked in. “Welcome back.” You smiled, noting how he seemed more at ease today than in your first session.  
  
“I hope I didn’t…uhh..interrupt…anything?” He closed the door behind him, waiting your answer.  
  
“Of course not. I kept my day free in case you decided to come.” He walked over to the chair opposite you and sat down, his demeanour much more relaxed. “Have you started on any of the books?” He looked up, nodding.  
  
“I like them. But I haven’t finished them yet.”  
  
“Like I said, take your time. Do you have any questions about what you’ve read?”  
  
“Umm…I did. But I can’t really remember what they were.”  
  
“That’s fine, if it helps, you can write down things you wanna ask me and bring them next time.” He nodded, the corner of his mouth curling up into a half smile. “Can I ask you something?” He nodded again. “What made you decide to come today?” He picked at the wood on the arm of the chair.  
  
“I’m not sure.” You allowed the silence to fill the air, your instincts telling you he was going to continue. A few minutes passed, and you were proved right. “I know I didn’t…I know I didn’t say much last time but…I…I feel…I like it here.”  
  
“In my office?” He nodded, not looking you in the eyes. “That’s good.” You paused. “I can make it more accessible if you like?” He looked up.  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“If this is a place you feel safe, I can get you a key so you can come and go as you please.”  
  
“But…what if you’re having other…sessions and stuff?”  
  
“I can give you a timetable of when I need to be in here. But I have a feeling, if you did visit, it’d be more of a night time thing?”  
  
“How…why would you say that?” You held your hands up.  
  
“I apologise for the assumption. Insomnia is a common trait in veterans.”  
  
“Insomnia?”  
  
“Inability to or difficulty sleeping.” He looked away.  
  
“And that’s normal?”  
  
“Of course it is.” He rubbed his jaw. “You’ve been through a lot that your brain is continuously processing the past and your surroundings, like you’re hypervigilant.”  
  
“What does that mean?”  
  
“Hypervigilant? It’s as though you’re on edge constantly, like you’re thinking something or someone is lurking, about to attack you, all the time.”  
  
“Why does that happen?”  
  
“You specifically?” He nodded. “You were trained to do exactly that, Bucky. To always be aware of your surroundings.” His face stiffened at your casual mention of his HYDRA past. “It can’t be an easy habit to break out of. And the disconnect between that and your life now, unfortunately, means that your cognitive impulses are at war.”  
  
“When will it stop?” His words were quiet.  
  
“I can’t tell you that.” His eyes found yours. “It depends on the individual. Sometimes it never stops, but your perspective of it can certainly change. You can use your vigilance positively instead.” He was quiet, watching you as your words came out of your mouth.  
  
“Could I go on missions?”  
  
“Is that what you want?”  
  
“One day.” You nodded. “I’d like to do what Steve does, helping people.” You smiled at the sentence.  
  
“We can certainly make that a goal for our sessions. We need to help you first though.”  
  
“And what does that involve?”  
  
“Depends on how much you give me.” His eyes widened slightly. “If you don’t tell me much, I can’t help much.”  
  
“I understand.”  
  
“I’ll oversee your physio and exercise as well, and Shuri’s upkeep on your arm.” You saw his left hand twitch, threatening to curl into a fist. “It’ll be a culminative effort.”  
  
“What do you want me to talk about?”  
  
“That’s up to you. I do have to tell you though, once you start, I’ll have to make notes. Purely so I can keep refreshing myself between sessions, and read up on things I think will be helpful.” He nodded, and you watched him playing with his tongue behind his teeth. Then he suddenly stood up, walked over to your desk, and picked up your notebook.  
  
The drawing you started in your previous session was on top, and you saw him tracing the lines with his fingers. Then he ripped the page out, and turned around with the picture, and your notebook in his hands. He sat down in his chair, placing your notebook on the table between you.  
  
“I’d like to start now.” He smiled, folding up the picture and sliding it into his pocket. You nodded, picking up your notebook, and a pen, settling back, waiting for him to begin.


	2. Chapter 2

_[Two months later]_

  


“Yeah, he’s got another thing coming if he ever comes at me with that metal arm!” You laughed as you went into your office. Shaking your head, you walked to your desk, dropping all your books down on it.  
  
“What…” You look over to see Bucky lounging on your sofa, book in hand, eyes wide. Still laughing, you wipe a tear coming from your eyes.  
  
“Tony has apparently installed an electricity function in his new arm prototype and keeps shocking our interns.” You breathed, your laughter finally calming down. “And now he’s trying to come after us lot.”  
  
“Well that’s…” He chuckled, clearly relaxing at the explanation. “I thought you meant…” You frowned at him.  
  
“Okay first, I would never talk about a client outside of these four walls.” You gesture round the room. “And second, I definitely don’t see your arm as something to stay away from.” You busied yourself organising your papers.  
  
“You…you don’t?” You look up at him.  
  
“Why would I?”  
  
“It’s…” You wait patiently, watching him trying to formulate the next few words.  
  
“Something for the next session perhaps?” He nodded, thanking you for saving him.  
  
“Do you need me to go?”  
  
“Not at all. I’m only typing up some notes, so you are free to stay unless the sound of keyboard tapping annoys you.” You sit on your desk chair, pulling yourself closer to your computer and turning it on. He smiled slightly and shook his head, turning back to his book.  
  
Ever since you gave Bucky a key, you had both fallen into a nice, comfortable routine. You texted him every week when you needed the office for sessions, he visited around each one. Sometimes, like today, you came in to him already there, reading another one of your books. You were both comfortable enough at this point, though, to just sit in the room without talking, doing your own things. Anything said in these times weren’t counted as your sessions, and a lot of it was based on pleasantries, or you explaining things in the books that he wanted to understand more.  
  
You appreciated how he let his guard down with you. You remember reading his file on the Stark plane coming over, and you had mapped out an intricate counselling programme, thinking how difficult it was going to be to crack him, to get him to open up. And yet, on your second or third session, he was already telling you about what he remembers from his time as the Winter Soldier. Now you were two months into your sessions, there were times you wanted to ask why he let his guard down so quickly, but he usually spoke relatively freely in those two hours a week that he came in, that you never felt as though you wanted to stop him to ask such a trivial question. He spoke to you, that should be enough, but the psychiatrist in you always wanted to know the reasons behind everything.  
  
“Luka?” You came back to reality to find him sitting up straight, staring at you.  
  
“Yes? Sorry what were you saying?”  
  
“You were just staring at me.”  
  
“I’m sorry, I got caught up in my thoughts.” You turned back to your computer, typing away. You faintly heard the shifting of fabric and a few footsteps. You slowly look up to see him now standing in front of your desk. He leant his elbows on the wood, then rested his chin in his hands, staring at you with a smile. You sighed and took your hands off your keyboard, folding them on your lap. “Yes Bucky?  
  
“Why were you staring?” He teased, the smile never leaving his face.  
  
“I was thinking about some things. You happened to be in my eyeline.”  
  
“I don’t think you’re telling me the truth.” You raised an eyebrow.  
  
“So now you’re the psychiatrist?” He laughed, and you hated how your stomach flipped at the noise.  
  
“I mean, I have read some books.”  
  
“Yeah, that’s the same as all those years of med school I went to.” He smirked, then clapped his hands on the desk, making you jump slightly.  
  
“Come on.” He walked over, sitting in your chair.  
  
“Come on what?” He gestured to the chair he usually sits in. “You can’t be serious.” He rested his elbows on the arm of your chair, putting his fingers together in the air in front of him, clearly waiting for you. You sigh, logging out of your work, and swaggered over to his chair, sitting slowly on the leather.  
  
“So, Luka.”  
  
“I prefer Doctor Mateo, actually.” His smirk grew.  
  
“So, Dr Mateo. How are you feeling today?” You suppress a giggle, clearing your throat instead.  
  
“Fine thanks.” He nodded.  
  
“Anything on your mind?”  
  
“Nothing out of the ordinary.” He dropped his hands and leant forward slightly.  
  
“So, you’re just thinking of the stuff that you normally think about?” You narrowed your eyes.  
  
“Yes.”  
  
“And what does that entail?”  
  
“Work. Dog videos.”  
  
“I’m sure you wouldn’t stare at someone over a dog video.” He said quietly. You let the silence fill the air for a moment. “You know anything you say in this room is confidential.” You smile.  
  
“Thank you for clarifying that.”  
  
“I have a theory.”  
  
“Do share.” You lean back in the chair, awaiting his explanation. He sat up straight, still watching you intently.  
  
“I think that you’re trying to figure me out.” You quirk an eyebrow.  
  
“That’s kind of my job.”  
  
“I think, this goes beyond your job role.”  
  
“What do you mean?”  
  
“You tell me.” Your breathing gets shallower at his words. “Why were you staring?”  
  
“I told you, I just got caught up in my thoughts.”  
  
“About me?”  
  
“Yes.” He smiled slightly. “I have to think about my clients outside of our sessions so that I’m prepared for the next one. It’s how I type up my notes.” He bit his lip.  
  
“What were you thinking about?”  
  
“Honestly?” He nodded. “I was thinking about how you spoke to me so freely after such a short time.” His smile fell. Yours grew. “I never pushed you to talk. Yet, on our, what was it, second session, you started telling me things. I was thinking about the possible reasons why.” He was silent. “I’m not looking for an explanation, it’s just something I wonder about.” The silent stayed between you, and you suddenly felt as though you had crossed a line. You put your hands on the arms of the chair, tapping the wood with your fingers, watching him, still and staring at you.  
  
You stood, your tongue playing with your teeth as you walked over to the door. You’re best leaving him, he can control what happens after this. As your fingers touch the handle, you’re suddenly spun around, and face to face with him.  
  
Your bodies were only a few inches apart, and you looked up at him, his mouth level with your nose, his heavy breath hitting your skin.  
  
“I’m sorry if I made you feel…” You started., stopping when he shook his head.  
  
“I trust you.” He said softly.  
  
“Well that’s…that’s good.”  
  
“I don’t know why.” You nodded.  
  
“I guess…you don’t have to know why just…” His eyes were boring into yours, and you had to physically stop yourself from leaning up and –  
  
“I should go.” He had stepped back, still looking at you, his hands running over his beard. You nodded, stepping away from the door, letting him leave, noticing how he left his books behind.


End file.
